II - Hermione Prepares

AN: Thanks to melusin for her tireless pursuit and prevention of comma, semicolon, and Brit-pick abuse.

Oh, and a disclaimer: not mine, no denarii.

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"Did you see this?" Hermione waved the offending paper at Harry. "This is utter tripe!"

"I know it is, Hermione, but you have to understand: Molly wanted to make this a big deal. Ron was Companion to Me, and Wife to You, and all of that. Since you told her that you didn't care and could, er, do whatever she liked with the funeral arrangements, she did." Harry ducked the flying piece of china and twitched his wand to repair it when it shattered against the wall.

"I never agreed to this!"

"Actually," Harry raked his fingers through his hair, "you did when you told Molly that she could 'screw herself in the arse with the memorial bust of her misbegotten, troll-bitten, red-headed...'"

"She took that as consent?" Hermione threw another teacup to relieve her feelings. Harry sighed; he loved his best friend, but he wished that she had not taken to throwing things when angry. Ron had taught her early on in their alleged relationship to throw a Quaffle, and that had been the end of non-projectile-tossing Hermione.

"Mum, that's enough!" Rose's voice cut across the clamor of shattering china. "It won't be difficult: you just have to keep vigil at the grave for a few nights."

"And I also have to march through the streets, wailing like a madwoman and expose myself to ridicule and commentary. I couldn't stand to spend five minutes together in the same room with your father. What makes you think that I can stand to spend a few nights alone with his corpse?"

"He won't talk back?" Hugo was never far behind his sister these days. Hermione's rant stilled as her son's logic sank in. She smiled and ruffled his hair. Hugo ducked out of the way and then sidled back to his mother for a hug. She kissed the top of his head. It wasn't fair that his father was such a tosser, she thought. It would have been fun to bring up this boy with a dad instead of on her own.

"In any event," Harry continued, "Minerva's been 'round to the Burrow, and she and the Hogwarts faculty are going to be there, for ceremony, anyway."

"That is supposed to cheer me up?"

"Well, it's not like you'll be by yourself the whole time." Harry looked a little sheepish.

Hermione sighed and made another mark in the Things Ron Owes Me For column. She wasn't objecting to seeing Minerva, Hagrid, Filius, and the rest of them, but the strain of keeping her true feelings for her husband hidden from them was going to be great.

"It looks like there's no getting out of this, is there?" she finally asked.

"'Fraid not, Mum," Rose replied. "But don't fret; once our time is over, we'll start the bonfire in the back garden and get the piss-up started. You'll see: it'll be worth it."

**

The prospect of the world-class booze up within the bosom of her family, who understood the truth about Ron (even if it did include Ginny), was enough to buoy Hermione's spirits for her to survive the initial ceremonies and services of the funeral.

As the Muddlywamp in charge of the service droned on and on about the tragedy of losing Ron in his youth, and the glory with which he had covered himself in his short lifetime, Hermione took the opportunity to examine her fellow mourners.

The Hogwarts faculty from her youth was present – with the exception of Professor Snape. Hermione was not particularly surprised. After his unexpected (and in some cases unwelcome) survival of The Snakebite, Snape had been tried despite Harry's best efforts to restore his good name. No longer accepted into polite society (thanks in large part to Ron's efforts as the Auror in charge of his probation), Snape, Hermione assumed, was floating about doing menial labor.

The Muddlywamp wrapped up his two-hour address, and the congregation rose to their feet. Hermione prepared herself for what was going to be the most difficult task of the week: living with the dead. Thankfully, Molly had agreed to Ginny's request that the coffin be opaque. The seven-foot tall statue outside the mausoleum was enough of a testament to Molly's spectacular lack of taste without having to subject Hermione and the mourners to the shocking visage of a purple-faced, dead Ronald. It was fortunate, Hermione reflected, that the prostitute with whom Ron had been when he died had had the foresight to remove the green leopard-print choker before the authorities had arrived. She looked around and saw him standing in the back of the crowd of mourners looking more bereaved than she felt. That surprised her: Hermione had always supposed that the "heart of gold" phenomenon was just a myth.

Being sure to drag her feet properly, sniffle loudly, and bow her head deeply, Hermione followed the coffin into the mausoleum. In the mausoleum was placed a high stool, a table, and a pallet upon which, if exhausted by her grieving, Hermione could rest. Carefully arranging her skirts and veil, Hermione seated herself upon the stool as the other mourners formed a line, passing first by the coffin to say goodbye and then by Hermione to console her. Hermione noted that only a few of the Aurors with whom Ron had worked tried to pinch her arse. She supposed that at thirty-four, she was no longer pinching material. That suited her just fine: it would have been a shame to have to have more than one Auror funeral that day.